Wanderer of the Sea
by Lady Beruthiel
Summary: Ulmo, Lord of the Waters, chose Tuor to fulfill a special destiny upon Middle Earth. Earendil Half-Elven, must fulfill his own fate in ending the bane of the Silmarils and the exile of the Noldor by daring the impossible. Here is the tale of the trials of
1. Prologue

Wanderer of the Sea

By Lady Beruthiel

Disclaimer: the following work is based on the _Silmarillion_ and snippets of the _Lord of the Rings_ by J.R.R. Tolkien. All the characters and plot ideas belong to him and are under copyright. Since no profit is being made from this piece of fan fiction I can keep all the plot bunnies to myself –grin-. This disclaimer will stand for all future chapters.

Author's Notes: 1) Before I begin I feel it is important for all readers to understand that I do not own copies of _Sauron's Defeat _or _Morgoth's Ring _(never really did get around to buying them…) and the majority of this story draws mostly from the _Silmarillion _and my imagination. If there is anything I may be off at based on the canon set forth by Tolkien's notes within the Histories of Middle Earth I would greatly appreciate it if you would e-mail me and I would be happy to edit it and renew the chapter. 2) I am really not good with maps so don't mind the occasional lack of direction. I'm trying though! 3) I will thank all my loyal reviewers and helpers with end notes at the end of the fan fic novel, though it is implied that you are continually thanked throughout! ^_~

Synopsis: Ulmo, Lord of the Waters, chose Tuor as his vassal to fulfill his destiny on Middle Earth. Tuor is father to Earendil Half-Elven who will become reknown in ending the bane of the Silmarils and the exile of the Noldor. This is a tale of father and son both who hear the ever present calling of the sea and both who will be bound with the fate of the ending of the First Age and the beginning of the Second.

Now on to the story…

Prologue

He has died.

The words that fell from his lips caused her to drop her goblet and it clattered to the floor loudly echoing in the empty hall of her home. Two hand maidens came in looking at their mistress in concern and glancing at the vassal, with his tunic stained with both mud, rain, and blood with foreboding of ill news. "My lady?" asked one of them quietly. They had heard the news, no doubt, but Rian, Lady of Dorthonian, heard them not when they called for her attention. Her face took on a mask palor and her eyes, once silver, now had darkened to a stormy gray and they were distant. 

"My lady, I am sorry," whispered the vassal still holding the staff that upheld the banner of Huor. The herald had died and he had ordered his vassal to ride back and deliver tidings back to Lady Rian. 

Rian stood up silently, "I do not believe you." She said in a low voice. But her lithe arms trembled betraying her denial.

_He has died._

"My lady, let me take you to your chambers…" began one of the maidens but Rian cut her off brushing quickly past her as her pace quickened out of the hall. Both hand maidens followed her. Rian took her heavy red mantle and threw it over her shoulders.

"My lady! Where are you going!?" exclaimed the elder one. Rian did not heat her. 

"You are not well! My lady, you are with child you cannot…!" exclaimed the other beginning to grasp her, the vassal also walked out in an attempt to quell her blocking her path. Upstairs on the loft other servants watched the scene below grieved. They knew. They _all knew. _

"You cannot leave, lady, it is dangerous and the elves warn…" began the vassal putting his hands upon her shoulders to calm her.

"Release me!" Rian exclaimed sharply causing all of them to cease. Her dark eyes looked upon them sternly, "I will go whither I will," She said lowly, "It is not your right to decide." She walked passed them the dignity of her house returning to her and went outside moving faster toward the stables keeping her mind empty of thoughts though many threatened to break her at that moment. 

Swiftly, she mounted upon her horse and urged it to fly away from the settlement, some of the people who were out in that evening watched her fly and then realized that some ill had come to pass.

~*~

            Time did not matter. Hours had passed and evening had fallen to dark night.

            Rian rode as swiftly as she could to the northern most border of her realm. The cold winter wind stung her cheeks and whipped her dark plaited hair from their braids. When she reached a vantage point she stopped her horse and looked out to the North. 

            A dark shadow hung in the sky covering the stars as if in tribute to the words of the vassal. Rian felt as if she could not breathe in that moment, a shiver passing her. _He is dead. _

            "No." She whispered, but in her heart she knew he was dead. She had known three days before the arrival of the vassal, she had known when nightmares reflected in only blood had haunted her. Two tears burned down her numb cheeks though she did not feel them, but others soon followed and her denial melted away.

_            "Huor!" _She cried out against all hope that he would hear her. She bowed her head sobbing feeling the world whirl around her and fade. "Huor," She said softly the name coming simply from her tongue though it was heavy with grief. Never again would she gaze into his shining eyes filled with humor, never would she dance with him during a festival, nor share their bed in the night. No more would Huor's laughter echo in the halls or the vales of Dorthonion, no longer would his words of mirth be heard at their table, nor his fervent whispers in their bed.

            He was dead.

            Rian's expression grew cold and her tears ceased she turned her burning eyes toward Angband and then she whispered fiercely, _"Utulie 'n Aure…"_

It seemed as if a dark laughter echoed upon the wind in reply.

            Silently and solemnly the Lady of Dorthonion turned her horse toward the east and sped toward the wilds of Hithlum.

            She would not return.

~*~

            Three months had passed and the winter was in its peak.

            Already the burden of her child had become heavier and heavier. 

            Rian put a hand upon her pregnant belly as she painfully led her horse through the forests of Mithrim. The sky was clear and the stars shone brightly that night, but Rian had not the strength to turn up and look at them. 

            A sharp pain stabbed through her and she cried out falling to her knees into the soft snowfall as she clutched her abdomen.

            _"Tiro!" _cried a fair voice from up in the trees. Other words were exchanged and Rian was for a moment afraid but when she realized they were elves her fear subsided. Two of them came down and picked helped her up. Rian moaned in agony feeling as if her child was going to rip its way out of her. One of them mounted her horse and the other two helped her upon it. More words were exchanged. Rian rested herself against the elf who sped her horse through the woods and her discomfort only grew. 

            "Varda!" She gasped out crying. _Small child, do not let me die here… for I would die next to my beloved._

            Soon the pain had grown too great and she fainted into darkness.

~*~

            "Awake!" urged a soft voice.

When she woke she found herself within a fair home lain upon a bed a warm fire roaring nearby. An elven lady with raven hair and blue silver eyes stood by her wiping her head with a cool cloth her bright eyes lit with a smile that soothed Rian from her fever. "Lady, your son has need of you now." She said in a soft-spoken common tongue.

"My son?" asked Rian dazed. The elven lady smiled and turned to an elven maid standing nearby who held a child swaddled in a dark blue cloth embroidered with silver stars. She moved near Rian who extended her arms to the small baby. Rian exerted a small smile.

"My son," She whispered looking at him as he gazed at her curiously as well, "He has his father's brow." Rian said sadly. The elven lady looked at her sympathetically.

"He is his father's heir." The elven lady told her, "What shall you call him?" 

"Tuor," Rian said softly, "Son of Huor."

"So he shall be." The elven lady told her and then her tone became grave, "You have traveled far alone, Rian of Dorthonion, the elves of Mithrim have tracked you since you entered Hithlum last month to make sure all went well where you wandered." Rian sighed still looking down fondly at her child.

"So that was the singing I heard in the trees those nights."

"You were brought into our care with fever and we had thought you would die with your son's birth so weak was your body." Said the elven lady, "But the stars shine brightly at his birth, and you have lived. A good omen it has been for you and for him." Rian's eyes than misted over with sadness although some light glowed beyond them.

"For him, indeed," said Rian despondently, "But for me another journey yet lies ahead." The elven lady frowned.

"You intend to leave?" She asked softly, though it as more of a statement on her part. Rian swallowed.

"In a few months," she said quietly, "When Tuor no longer has need of me. I have fulfilled what I had to do and I am weary of shadow." Some understanding flickered in the elven lady's eyes as if she read something in Rian.

"So not speak so soon of it," said the elven lady, "For the time being you shall remain among us and you are welcome here. I am called Elariel, it was my elder brother, Annael, and his two companions who had found you." She smiled once more, "They shall be glad to know that you and your son are well. My home is now yours, Rian of Dorthonion."

"Thank you," said Rian gratefully. Elariel stood up from her bed side.

"I shall get you some drink to raise your spirits," She said with a smile, "And then you may meet my brother when your strength returns."

~*~

The days that Rian passed in the halls of Androth were peaceful although her heart still grieved for Huor. His voice still sounded in her dreams and she woke expecting to find him by her side but cried silently when she knew he was no more among the living. She kept watch over Tuor for many months and mothered him and Annael and Elariel became close to the small mortal child, watching over him as Rian did.

But the time finally came when Tuor had grown enough to have no more dependency on his mother for survival. After lulling Tuor to sleep one night Rian sadly took parting of her two elven friends, for the grief lay to heavy in her heart for her to stay. She rode away silently and alone toward Anfauglith to the Haudh-en-Ndengin, the Hill of the Slain. There Rian fell to her knees in bitter mourning and in the cold of that year she died there, close to Huor, her beloved.

The Lady of Dorthonion was no more, and the only memory of her and her husband was in small Tuor who abided under the care of the elves of Mithrim, and they called him 'Siltholion', which in their tongue means, Son of the Shining Helm.

~*~

Next Chapter: Tuor 'Siltholion' grows up among elves.


	2. Whispers of the Waters

Wanderer of the Sea

By Lady Beruthiel

Chapter 1 | Whispers of the Water

He was drowning.

            Somewhere, sometime, he had become lost and then he had sunk into the cold and dark depths of the waters and it was swallowing him.

            All around him the tide whirled, the currents moved the waves to crash upon him. He couldn't get up, he couldn't reach the surface and the darkness became thicker and cold stung him. He was engulfed and only sank deeper as if a great weight pulled him down.

            _Tuor, _came a deep and ominous voice, _Tuor!_

            Then he remembered. This was his name.

            _Hlasta! Huor-ion, hlasta! _

            He was drowing. The cold darkness wrapped itself around him. He couldn't get up to the surface; he couldn't breath, the currents were too strong.

            He would die here.

            _Tuor! _The deep voice grew urgent, _Hlasta!_

            And then he awoke…

~*~

            He sat up with a gasp as if he had broken to the surface through the storm and had just tasted the air for the first time. He trembled feeling cold although the stone halls of Androth were generally warm on summer night.

            But despair claimed him in that moment and he cried out fearfully.

            "Tuor?" exclaimed Annael as he quickly walked into the room sensing the mortal boy's anxiety, "What is it, _hen-nin_?" He asked sitting upon the bed. The nine year old immediately flung himself into his foster father's arms clutching his gray robes tightly. Annael's brow creased with concern as he attempted to console him rocking him gently in his arms. He had never seen the boy in such a state of fear and his senses were alert seeking out what could have disturbed the child.

            Sensing nothing he looked down curiously at the small child in his arms and a fierce affection grew in his heart. The idea of anything frightening the small boy, _his _small boy, much less, caused him to become very defensive.

            _Is it my right to call him 'mine'? _Annael suddenly wondered guiltily as he attempted to discern what could have frightened Tuor, _Perhaps not, _he conceded silently, _but I love him as my own._

            Rian's departure nine years ago had greatly upset Annael although Elariel seemed to accept the fact more placidly than he. Since the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, much had changed… for the worse. The tides of the world had grown darker.

            Annael had lost his father in that battle and his sister, Elariel, had been grieved for many long days awaiting their return. For those that survived the Fifth Battle the loss was all too near and the wound hard to heal. Even to this day Annael oft relived the memory of that dark day and he oft blamed himself for his father's death wishing silently he had died in his stead, although his sister scolded him for those words.

            The coming of Rian into Hithlum and Tuor's fostering had been all at once a blessing and a bane. Tuor himself had lost his father and his mother and Annael had grown fiercely protective of the mortal child whom he shared much in common. Yet, Annael knew that his love for Tuor would not keep him in Arda forever. Early on, he knew that Tuor would one day pass away from the world and the thought saddened him greatly. Elariel, herself, warned him not to grow too attached for she feared that Annael's heart would be broken twice in his lifetime. Once with his father's death. Twice with Tuor's. _A heart can only take so many wounds, muindor-nin, before it breaks, _her words echoed in his thought but for the moment he would rather ignore them.

            "What has happened?" Elariel asked flying into the room her dark hair disheveled and clad in only a night gown and her own blue robes, "I sensed some trouble here," She said more softly. Annael gave her a perplexed look in response as Tuor seemed to calm down his tears drying.

            The small boy sniffled his silver eyes looking up at his foster father and his aunt, "I had a bad dream." He said in a small voice. 

            Hearing this, Elariel kneeled down before him giving a sigh of relief and clutching his small hand in hers. 

            "A! Siltholion!" She said soothingly, "_Meleth-hen_, what did you dream that frightened you so?" Annael looked at the small boy expectantly and shivered at his expression.

            His face took on a grave mask that Annael had never before seen on a child and for a moment he thought that he beheld Tuor as a man rather than Tuor the buy who had been clutching him tightly a moment ago.

            "I was drowning," He whispered afraid that some evil thing would hear. Tears unshed glistened on his eyes, "I was drowning in the water, bitter dark cold water, and I couldn't get out. I couldn't breath…" His voice fell into indiscernible mumbles as he began to cry once more. Annael wrapped his arm around him protectively as Elariel looked at him, calm reflected in her gaze.

            "It was only a dream, Siltholion," Annael said softly trying to quell the boy's sudden despair, "It cannot hurt you." He regretted his words at that moment knowing how untrue that statement could be as he recalled Rian's tale to him of Huor's death.

            "But there was voice!" Tuor cried out his upset only growing, "A big deep voice in the water! He called to me! He knew my name! He knew me…!" Tuor paled huddling closer to Annael's embrace. "_Ada, _he knew me…" He barely whispered fearfully.

            The dark haired elf exchanged a questioning look with his sister. Elariel turned to the small boy concerned.

            "And what did the voice tell you, Siltholion?" She asked softly still holding his hand. He swallowed, struggling to recall the words of his dream. Finally, he replied meekly, some questioning in his own voice.

            "To listen."

~*~

            "What could it mean?" asked Annael pacing as he looked at his sister curiously. A week had passed since the night Tuor cried out to them and for the last few nights it seemed that the boy slept peacefully without disturbance. It seemed Tuor had forgotten about it wholly, going out into the halls to play games with his elven peers and to practice archery with Ornelion, one of the chief sentries of the Halls, and friend to Annael.

            "Calm down, Annael," said Elariel as she ceased threading her embroidery, "A meaning shall eventually present itself." Annael was dissatisfied with the answer and continued thinking a strange foreboding filling him. 

            "What omen is it that Lorien sends to us?" He asked mostly to himself.

            "Ai!" exclaimed Elariel exasperated as she stood up and set her hands on his shoulders to sit him down in one of the nearby chairs, "How shall I quell your anxieties, brother, you are being quite harsh on yourself!" Annael sighed, finally surrendering to her treatises but his eyes were filled with concern. Elariel smiled at him and pulled back some of his dark locks before kissing his forehead.

            "Annael, this is a mortal child you are raising, not an elf." Elariel said softly, "You must recall that men and elves do not dream the same way." He raised an eyebrow questioningly to her and she provided an explanation, "While we may chose where we wander in dreams mortals have naught that choice, Annael. His dreams shall be unruly and they shall take him where they wilt. Tuor shall grow up to dream many things and never fully grasp their meaning for the dreams of mortals are strange and broken threads whose tapestry we cannot fully come to see or understand."

            "And how would you know this?" He asked with mock irritation. Elariel laughed lightly.

            "I have mingled with mortal men, if only for a short while." She told his her eyes bright but they fell into the depth of memory, "Many wounded returned from the borders of Angband after the Fifth Battle, if you recall…"

            "Too well," Annael interrupted heavily. Elariel smiled sadly.

            "I aided the healers in their tents in helping the _atani_, with their wounds." She told him, "I learned much in that month of healing, and you too should have known, silly brother! For you fought by their side and shared their tents."

            Realization dawned on him. She was right. In the tents Annael had heard some men mutter in their sleep as if they were speaking to phantoms. They had been dreaming, what of, Annael did not know.

            She laughed at his expression.

            Annael looked up at her.

            "You're quite good at knowing things, Elariel." He told her. Elariel smiled softly. 

            "I know." She replied simply causing Annael to break into a smile, "Now if you don't mind, my husband awaits me at home, can you handle yourself?"

            "I shall try." He responded with a smile.

            "Good!" She said picking up her embroidery, "Annael," she said before she left, "Do not worry yourself so much, mortal children are not so easy to care for as our own."

            "I shall keep that in mind, my sister." Annael told her, "Namarie." She smiled.

            "Namarie."

~*~

            Annael had gone out seeking Tuor that evening only to find him standing by a wall fountain looking at the falling water curiously.

            "What fascinates you so, Siltholion?" Annael asked with a smile. The boy seemed to wake from a reverie and turned to his foster father his eyes thoughtful.

            "The water," Tuor said a discovery in his voice, "It speaks!" Annael cocked an eyebrow at the boy and kneeled down near him.

            "Indeed," said the dark haired elf approvingly, "Not only does it speak, it sings as well."

            "Have you a story, _ada?_" asked Tuor immediately, "About the water?" Annael sat down by him somewhat perplexed by the boy's sudden fascination in water. He pulled the small boy into his lap and sighed.

            "What sort of a story, ion-nin?"

            "Where did it come from?" asked Tuor, "And how does it sing?" Annael smiled.

            "All things in the world sing, Tuor, all things were created in song."

            "How?"

            "Long ago," Annael began, "There was nothing in the world, only a void and Eru."

            "The God?"

            "Yes," Annael agreed approvingly, "Eru, the God, Eru, the One, Eru Iluvatar, Father of All. He has many names but Eru sang all things into being including the Holy Ones, you know that story well enough?"*

            Tuor nodded in agreement having heard the tale since he was young. 

            "And then there is Ulmo, lord of the waters, and he sang the waters and their currents into being."

            _Ulmo? _Something dawned on Annael in that moment.

            "Ulmo," said the boy repeating the name thoughtfully, "Did he make all the waters?"

            "Yes," replied Annael returning from his thought, "From the smallest streams to the Great Sea." Tuor looked at him curiously, Annael smiled at him, "And I'm sure you would wish to know what the sea is like as well?" He asked.

            "I already know," said Tuor in quick reply as he fiddled with a toy horse in his hand, "It's blue and endless and its waves crash in white foam upon the sand." Annael looked at the boy astounded.

            "And did Ornelion tell you of it?" He asked before jumping to conclusions. Tuor shook his head.

            "No," He told him looking up, "I dreamt it."

~*~

            That night he did not sleep well.

            Annael tossed and turned in his bed not capable of sleep. He was deeply troubled. He swung his legs over the bed unsure of his discomfort. Annael cast on his gray robe and walked out of his room and silently glided into Tuor's. Annael sighed quietly. The mortal boy slept peacefully in his bed undisturbed. Annael tucked his blanket over him kissing him softly upon his brow before walking out as silently as he walked in.

            The raven haired elf walked out of his flet and onto the main Hall of Androth that was now mainly silent except for a few guards on post and some lovers who chose to stay out upon their balconies in the cave gardens. Annael glanced at the stone fountain ahead and sat by it holding his aching head.

            "Poor fellow," came a rasped voice in common tongue, "You seem like you have all the worries of the world upon your back." Annael looked up refocusing his vision and he saw before him an old mortal man cowled in a faded dark blue homespun robe. He had taken his seat by Annael, his bent form small compared to that of the elves who roamed about and paid no mind to him. Annael relaxed for a moment his surprise dissolving.

            "Almost," replied Annael in the same tongue, "And who are you sir? To be welcomed in the elven halls?" 

            The mortal laughed and Annael expected a cackle but was surprised to hear a ringing in his tone." His dark eyes met Annael's silver ones.

            "My name is unimportant," He said clutching his knarled cane, "I am an _elendil, _and a friend of many men as well. I have served Turgon of Gondolin and I have once served Huor ere his death. I spoke with Elariel last evening and I have heard of your own plight." Annael looked at the old man amazed.

            "Then you have high honor with you sir and my plight is little," said Annael with a sigh, "But how can a mortal man be allowed in Gondolin?" The man smiled enigmatically.

            "Sometimes those of worth are guised as the foolish, and I am old and foolish at times, Annael." He told him. Annael nodded in understanding.

            "I feel that way as well, at times." He said softly the pain in his head. The old man smiled at him.

            "Over Tuor?" asked the man.

            "Aye," Annael said quietly, "Over Tuor."

            "Sometimes, Annael, Son of Eldarath, you cannot claim everything, and that which you think is now yours is not yours to keep," said the old man placing a hand on his forehead and pain cleared suddenly replaced by a calm, "Be at peace Son of Eladarath, and do not clutch the water too tightly in your hand for it will slip from your fingers!"

            Annael's eyes caught one of the flowers opened in a vine before him while all the others were closed and was for a moment fascinated by it. He sighed, "I know your words are true, but…"

            The old man had vanished. 

~*~

            "I spoke to no old man, muindor." Elariel told him honestly the next day.

            "Then was I dreaming?" Annael asked mostly to himself. Elariel laughed.

            "I think you are over worrying yourself to the point of madness, dear brother!" She said.

            "But I saw him, and he was real, Elariel! I felt him there with me, but there was something strange about him now that I think of it…" He trailed off recalling the event of last night with some questioning.

            He had never heard the old man approach him, no, his elven hearing had failed him. And another thing: _No one seemed to see him but I!_

            How was that possible?

            As he related these things to his sister Elariel's expression grew grave.

            "Annael," she said quietly, "I think you have spoken with Ulmo."

            He looked up at her trying to connect the pieces in his mind. 

            "But why would… and how can…?" He could not finish his questions much less find an answer. Elariel smiled softly some foresight in her gaze.

            "Do not clutch the water too tightly in your hand for it will slip for your fingers," Elariel said softly, "He was speaking of Tuor." Annael's look fell to amazement as he sat down upon a chair not able to contain himself. They stood together in a moment of silence.

            "What does this mean?" He asked softly looking up at her.

            "Tuor's fate lies beyond that of yours and at some point you must let go of him, Annael." 

~*~

_6 years later_

            In one swift movement Tuor disarmed him and had his sword pointed at Annael.

            "Do you yield?" asked the young man smiling with some jest in his eyes.

            "Alas!" Annael said, "The student has become the teacher!" Tuor lowered the sword looked at Annael curiously.

            "You let me win," Tuor told him. Two of the guards who had been watching laughed.

            "I dare not be accused of that!" Annael exclaimed as he wiped the perspiration from his brow, "We had been fighting for three hours in that match!" Tuor smiled and turned around about to reach for his scabbard when Annael sprung from his feet and grabbed his sword. Sensing the lunge Tuor swiftly turned around and blocked it. 

            "Oh!" The two guards exclaimed.

            "What was rule number one?" Annael asked him cocking an eyebrow. He struck two consecutive blows and Tuor parried them as well.

            "Never turn your back on your adversary, even if you think he's dead."

            "Very good!" Annael exclaimed and grinned, "Now let's see your foot work!" He moved swiftly whirling around Tuor and then disengaging his sword and pointed his own at him.

            "Now who's yielding?" Annael smiled his sword pointed at the other. Tuor laughed.

            "I never said I yielded, _ada._" Tuor jested then drew a small curved dagger from underneath his sleeve and pushed up Annael's sword while reaching for his own.

            "Clever!" Annael exclaimed.

            "I call it tie!" called out one of the guards.

            "Faugh!" Annael exclaimed, "Tuor won't settle for that! Will you?"

            "Unless you want to let me win again?" Annael laughed.

            "Well you'll have to settle for that!" called a lady's voice, "For lunch is ready and I'm waiting!"

            "We'll be there in a second Aunt Eliriel!" Tuor called out.

            "One second means an eternity!" She shrilled, "Now!" Both men groaned and put down their swords as she walked up to them the two guards watched the exchange merrily.

            "Look at you!" Eliriel said fussing over Tuor, "You've gotten dirt all over your clothes and your hair!"

            "It was his fault." Tuor smiled pointing at Annael. Annael slapped his hand out of the way.

            "Well it was his fault, my clothe got dirty as well!" Annael whined. Eliriel cocked an eyebrow at him.

            "Well it was your fault you got him into beating you up, now, isn't it?" Eliriel asked sweetly putting an arm around Tuor, "Come now, meleth-nin, you must be starved." Annael rolled his eyes and Tuor grinned at him.

            "Your cooking would make anyone feel starved at the moment," Tuor told her kindly and she laughed at him.

            "If you keep all that charm up Tuor Siltholion you'll have every elven maiden in Hithlum looking for you!" 

~*~

After they ate that evening Annael found himself summoned by Ornelion, now captain of the guard, to his chamber. Annael walked in quietly looking at the familiar faces in the room. The other guard captains sat around, in no formal manner, and Ornelion greeted him warmly though his face was masked with seriousness.

"Welcome Annael, I am glad you came," Ornelion told his companion. Annael sat by his other peers as Ornelion began briefing them of what was to come.

"I know many of you have heard rumour that our lord and many of our people are minded to leave Androth for the havens of the Sirion in the south," Ornelion began, "I want to inform you all that these rumours are true."

The elven captains looked up at Ornelion their faces also masked in seriousness over the matter. A journey from Androth to the Havens of the Sirion was no easy task. Moving the population from one point to another required covering a vast amount of miles and the guard captains knew very well of dangers that could lie inbetween. Annael immediately disliked the idea.

"Why should we leave so soon our home that has provided us with protection?" He asked in protest. Ornelion sighed.

"Things have grown darker in the east, Annael," Ornelion conceded to him openly, "Our scouts have gone and some have not returned. Those who have report dark tidings. The dark lord is beginning to regroup his forces and rebuild his troops."

"Why?" asked Annael looking at him with concern.

"We do not know," Ornelion told him, "We fear an attack on Hithlum and if this is so Androth lies between Fingolfin's realm and Angband. We are not safe here, not as a buffer at any rate."

"If we leave we open Fingolfin's realm to danger." Said another.

"We are not responsible for Fingolfin's realm, Galdor." Ornelion told him, "We are the grey-elves of Mithrim and what we do is our own choosing."

"It will not be easy moving so many to the havens, Ornelion," Annael said in agreement, "We have not enough guards or troops for protections of so many."

"That is why everyone shall go armed," Ornelion replied, "All the men within Androth know how to wield either sword or bow they will be capable enough."

"When is our lord intending to lead us off?" asked another captain. Ornelion frowned.

"We must be ready and organized by the next hunter's moon." Ornelion told then, "The announcement shall be made tomorrow. Those families who chose to move into Dor-lomin or Hithlum under the Noldor are welcome too, but many shall come along with us toward the havens in Sirion."

"I do not like this idea." Said Annael quietly.

"Then you have a decision to make," said Ornelion simply.

~*~

NEXT CHAPTER: The move to the Sirion and unknown dangers ahead…


End file.
